


It's Not a Problem (yet)

by Aithilin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anger Management, Domestic Violence, Gen, John's not very nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1587140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John doesn't have anger issues. He's just got a bit of a temper. </p><p>TW: implied domestic violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not a Problem (yet)

When he lashed out, he felt justified. It got Sherlock to apologize for whatever scheme he was pulling now, and it exhausted his anger. John didn’t realize that he might have been out of line until Sherlock didn’t invite him out on the next few cases.

By the time he got around to Baker Street again, a month had passed. He could feel the anxious-jittery first signs of wanting a brawl, and he knew that Sherlock must have something on by now. Mary had practically pushed him out the door now; told him to come back when he wasn’t so ruled up— when he had run it out of his system.

John hadn’t thought anything of it, but Mary was on the phone before he even got his coat on. He didn’t think she’d make plans before he even got a foot out the door. She couldn’t be that eager to be rid of him. The thought ate away at him. She couldn’t have been making plans to go out, Amanda was just down for her nap— hell, Mary had kicked him out so he wouldn’t wake her. He didn’t know why she thought he would wake his daughter— granted, the shouted at each other more than talked, but he was still sensible.

The thought ate at him as he walked.

He had meant to just walk to the station and head in to Baker Street. But nearly twelve blocks later and he realized that he had passed his usual stops.

He doesn’t actually know what happened. Sherlock turned him away from the case— there was no fight, no danger, nothing about it that required John on his heel. It was a string of burglaries, and there was nothing there for him to chase down.

He doesn’t remember lashing out.

He remembers Sherlock catching his wrists and pushing him away; not fighting him, just pushing him back. John didn’t even remember why he was so angry when he actually made contact. He assumed it had something to do with Sherlock’s tone in the end.

"What was the subtext this time?" Sherlock asked later, holding a cold cloth to his jaw.

John laughed as he remembered the joke from ages ago.

The next time, when Amanda woke crying, he nearly pushed Mary. They had been arguing over his temper, and he knew he did wrong by shouting. But Mary shouldn’t have pushed him towards the door. He pushed back. She punched him and knocked him through the door itself. The click of the lock broke through his rage, and he decided against trying to get back in. He knew those locks— Mary kept a secure home.

He started to walk. He didn’t want to humiliate himself by begging to be let back in.

He noticed that Sherlock didn’t talk to him as much, avoided some of the phrases that used to set him on edge. It was considerate, but he didn’t think it was much like his friend. There was still a yellowing bruise against his jaw, but John thought it was fine. He thought they were still on good terms.

At least until he saw Lestrade.

They reached a crime scene— alleged gang violence— and Lestrade took one look over him before dragging him away from the amassed officers.

It was odd that Sherlock didn’t protest on his behalf.

"Stay the hell away from my crime scenes."

"What?!"

"Stay away from Sherlock, while you’re at it." Lesteade had all but shoved him against a wall; pushed him towards the main road with enough force to cause him to stumble. "At least until you get your temper under control."

"My temper?! Greg, this is—”

"An ultimatum, John." Lestrade crossed his arms and stared John down. Seeing him now, the protective authority figure, John could believe the rumours of a young punk brawler that went around NSY. "You get anger management worked out, and we deal when you’re better."

"I’m not sick, Greg!"

"You’re angry—"

"Damn right I am."

"And Mary’s called me. This is your warning, John. I’ll make it official if I have to, but next time you lose control, I being you in."

Lestrade moved closer in swift, sure steps, his eyes fixed on John’s hands. John didn’t even realize he was clenching his fists, sizing his friend up.

"Hit me, and even Sherlock will testify against you. Half my team is waiting for my signal, John." He pushed John towards the main road again. "Walk away. Check in with your therapist."

"I don’t have an anger problem."

"Then prove me wrong. Go get it in writing. Talk to your therapist and get it under control. I’ve seen addicts before, John. Go get help before Mary gets sick of your bullshit."

"I’m fine."

"Then know that I’m watching."


End file.
